Counting by Twos and Tying Shoes
by Syberian Quest
Summary: He is brilliant, but stupid. He can talk physics, but he cannot tie his shoes. As a result, she makes it her mission to protect him. What will be the cost? First place winner in the Starling Struck! contest.


"Sinead?"

"What?"

"Could you tie my shoes for me?"

Seven-year-old Sinead glanced up and sighed. He was doing it again. He was giving her that look. His big, blue eyes were pleading, his lower lip quivering slightly. Anyone else would have given in without a second thought, but not her. She had built up immunity long ago. Good thing, too.

"Do it yourself, Ned."

"But, Sinead!" he pleaded, making sure no one was around to hear his next words. "I don't know how!"

"Then learn."

"B-but all the other kids will make fun of me!"

"They already do, Ned."

Tears began to pool in his eyes, and Sinead cringed inwardly. She wasn't heartless; he was still her little brother.

"Come here," she sighed, giving in. "I'll tie them." She bent over, grabbing his loose shoelaces. "But just this once," she added quickly.

Ned nodded solemnly. "I know – just this once."

She pulled at his laces, joining them together.

_Bunny ears. Around the hole. Okay, now through the hole._

There. Sinead gave a satisfied smile as she stood up. Why he couldn't do it himself, she'd never know. It was _so _easy.

"Thanks," Ned beamed at her. "Ted and I are gonna meet on the jungle gym. We're going to test Galileo's experiment to see if a rock and a feather really do fall at the same rate. Ted's got the rock and feather already. Wanna come?"

Sinead smiled. "That sounds like fun, but I have to change into my outdoor shoes first. I'll meet up with you later, okay?"

"Okay. See ya soon!" Ned tossed over his shoulder as he started to run down the hallway.

She shook her head exasperatedly as he clumsily tripped his way outside. He'd have to grow up someday, and that day had better be soon. Mommy and Daddy didn't take incompetency lightly.

Sinead turned and walked to her locker, opening it as she searched for her other pair of shoes.

"Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Starling, for taking the time to meet with me. I know you two have such busy schedules, but-"

Mommy? Daddy? They were here? But they never came to school!

Sinead quickly crept to the side of her classroom's door and pressed herself against its frame, trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. It had to be important, whatever it was. After all, it wasn't everyday that her parents met with Ms. Finkle.

"I assume that they are all in the gifted programs?" Mr. Starling asked, obviously expecting positive affirmation.

"Oh, yes," Ms. Finkle assured him.

"And they were all found to be far beyond their grade level?"

"Yes," Ms. Finkle said hesitantly, not quite sure how Mr. Starling had managed to take control of the conversation.

Sinead could imagine her father leaning back in his chair, satisfied. That was all it took – the knowledge that his children were academically superior – to make him happy. He was undoubtedly a true Ekat.

"Your children are all doing well – there's no need to worry about that – but I haven't called you here to talk about academics."

"Oh?" Sinead could hear her mother ask. "Then what exactly were you intending to discuss with us?"

For a moment, all was silent, and Sinead just knew that Ms. Finkle was squirming, unsure of how to break whatever news it was that she had to the Starlings.

"It's Ned," Ms. Finkle said at last.

"What about him?" Mr. Starling prodded. "If he's doing fine academically, I don't see what the problem is."

"Well…" she began. "He's behind, but not academically," she was quick to add. "He's behind socially."

"I beg your pardon?" Mr. Starling asked incredulously.

Ms. Finkle sighed. "Let me put it this way – when we do simple exercises in math, like counting by twos, he is bored to death. The things that most people learn at his age he learned before he could walk. But when it comes to social activities, he lacks. He can't function properly with other children; the only ones he relates to are his siblings." Her voice lowered significantly. "He _still _can't even tie his shoes."

Sinead could practically feel the tension in the room. "I'm sure there are plenty of children his age who are still unable to tie their shoes," her father replied defensively.

"Well, it's true," she admitted, "but it's not just that. During snack time, he conducts experiments with his crackers. He never socializes with anyone besides Sinead or Ted. And during recess, well – "

Sinead silently slipped away. She didn't want to hear any more of her brother's faults. He wasn't really that bad, was he? She pressed her back to the wall of lockers behind her, sliding to the ground, deep in thought. Ned _was_ different, but it was a good different. It was an Ekat different. Ekats were brilliant - sometimes too brilliant for the rest of the world to really get them - but that didn't mean that Ned was lacking. He wasn't weird. He was… He was…

Oh, who was she kidding? She had seen him studying physics books when other kids had been learning to count past 20. He _was _different, but it wasn't his fault. He was special, and few would ever understand him. She had seen some of the other kids make fun of him. She had always assumed that they had just been jealous of his superior intellects, and maybe it was true, but that wasn't the only problem. They picked on him because he wasn't like them.

Sinead narrowed her eyebrows, a look of determination crossing her face, hardening her dainty features. She knew what she had to do. She would protect him. She was his older sister, one of the few people who truly got him, and it was her duty to shield him from those too stupid to comprehend his _true _genius.

She glanced from side to side, staring at the pictures that decorated their little corner of the hallway. Ms. Finkle had given their class the task of drawing themselves doing their favorite activity. She caught a glimpse of Ted's, his an intricate work of art depicting him drawing one of his ingenious master plans. Next to his was Ned's. A little stickman could be seen holding a test tube. She glanced around at the other pictures. Some showed children playing with their dogs, others portrayed them playing games with friends or family, but none were of wild science experiments. It was only her brother. He was the odd duck.

"Thank you, Ms. Finkle. I'm very glad to have had this conversation with you."

The words startled Sinead, disrupting her contemplation. She jumped up, afraid of the prospect of getting caught eavesdropping. She slipped off her shoes, grabbed her outdoor ones, and made her escape down the hallway. She paused, spending a second to linger next to Ned's picture. A grinning scientist stared back at her. She reached out, running her fingers along it, and smiled. He was strange, yes, but he was her little brother. She would make it her duty to guard him, to protect him, and when she made up her mind, nothing could stop her. No one would touch Ned – that was her mission.

And she always got what she wanted.

* * *

The memories echo in her mind.

That day, the one she had realized the strange truth about her brother, seems like a lifetime ago. She had been so confident, so sure of herself. She had believed in her abilities, that she could protect her brother.

She has failed. Miserably.

She stares at her brother as he clutches his throbbing head, struggling to get his shoes on. He has always struggled with normal, everyday tasks, but those problems are so insignificant compared to what he faces now. Just walking in a straight line is an achievement.

"Sinead?" he calls out weakly.

"Yes, Ned," she says as she rushes to his side.

"Could you tie my shoes for me?"

She bends over, not uttering a single complaint. He never learned, but now, it would be pointless to try and teach him. His brain is like fire, burning relentlessly, destroying his brilliant mind. He has been stripped of everything that he once loved. And it is all her fault. Tying his shoes is the least she can do.

Her mission has changed. She does not aim to protect him, but to save him – both of them. She works tirelessly, determined to make up for her failures.

The thought of her childhood naivety causes a wry smile to play at the corners of her mouth. She was proud, but the hunt as changed her. The accident has changed them all. Her goals, her dreams, her aspirations – they have changed, been drastically altered. And with that, so has her sense of pride. She would do anything to make things right again, to save her brothers. But she now knows the truth: you don't always get what you want.


End file.
